


Gotta Catch 'em All

by gottalovev



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottalovev/pseuds/gottalovev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A classic 5 times + 1 story. Or maybe not.  (AKA the working title was "Clint gets some action"  ;)  )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Full moon in the city, and the night was young...

**Author's Note:**

> Jeremy Renner said in an interview that Hawkeye got a lot of action in the movie and slept with all of the Avengers ([watch it here, around the one minute mark](http://youtu.be/WGLsQDOgVkc)). This is my take on that claim.
> 
> The fic is complete - 6 chapters - and I will post them as they come back from my fabulous beta, [zelda_zee](http://zelda-zee.livejournal.com) (thank you so much for such a fantastic job, love!) 
> 
> What was supposed to be, well, six short scenes turned into a 20K words fic with plot and stuff. Oooops?

Clint's on his way to the kitchen for a glass of milk before bed when he sees a silhouette at the first floor living room's bar. He expects it to be Tony, but it turns out to be Bruce, elbows on the counter and both hands crossed over his neck. The posture screams of misery and after a second of hesitation, Clint makes the decision to intrude. He likes Bruce, maybe he can distract him a little from whatever is wrong.

"Hey there," Clint offers as an opening as he walks over and leans on the bar.

Bruce blinks up at him in surprise. "Oh, hey Clint."

Clint takes the bottle of scotch in front of Bruce and pours himself a shot. It's not the drink he was after, but it should mellow him out just the same. He raises the glass and offers it to Bruce, and they clink without a toast. After a sip - and damn, Stark keeps the best stuff - Clint nudges Bruce with an elbow.

"Care to share why you're getting smashed on a Tuesday night?" he asks.

Bruce shrugs, and then snorts in amusement. "No smashing. Happy to've let that one out, Barton?"

"Kinda," Clint says with a wink because at least Bruce is smiling now. "I've been waiting for months, but I’d yet to catch you drinking."

Bruce snickers and loses some of the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders.

"Just relaxing a bit. And reflecting on the sad state of my life."

A mopey drunk, then. Not Clint's favorite type. 

"Please, you've helped save the city, if not the world, at least five times this month! That's not too shabby."

Bruce waves his hand. "Oh, no, no, not that way. We're still barely functional as a team, but we're getting better all the time. I was referring to, you know, the rest."

Clint swirls the scotch in his glass, making it slosh around. "That sounds like girl problems."

"If the problem is not having a girl anymore, then yes," Bruce agrees.

Ain't that a shame, Betty looked like a real sweetheart.

"Aww really? That sucks, sorry." Clint pours Bruce more scotch. "So you're joining me in the lonely hearts club, then." 

Bruce frowns and tilts his head. "I thought you and Natasha..."

He thought that too, once, but no. Clint gestures. "Nah, not anymore. At least, not seriously, just as buddies and it's been a while. Maybe that's over too." And that would be fine; they work better as friends, though the sex is fantastic when it happens.

"You don't sound heartbroken," Bruce says. "That's nice."

"I'm not," Clint says honestly. "I wouldn't mind getting laid, but hey, dry spell and all."

"You?" Bruce look at him up and down appreciatively, and Clint might not hate it. "You're just not trying."

Which is mostly true, but it's been harder lately. "Look, the last time I went out, which you bowed out of by the way, it was with those bozos," Clint says, gesturing in the general direction of the bedrooms. “Let me just tell you that when you’re in a bar with Natasha, Thor, Steve and Tony Fucking Stark? Yeah. Not getting any action is to be expected."

"When you put it like that..." Bruce says with sympathy.

Clint hams it up for laughs. "Not cool, man, they're stealing all my thunder."

It works because Bruce grins. "Considering we're in part talking about Thor..." he remarks.

Making a finger pistol at Bruce, Clint laughs too. "Point."

With a sigh, Bruce takes a gulp of his drink. "I guess should get used to it."

To being alone, Clint supposes.

"Why?" he asks. "You're a catch."

This time Bruce's scoff is not really amused. "Yeah, right."

"Seriously," Clint says, and he starts counting on his fingers. "Good looking, funny, smart, competent, you're pushing all of my buttons here." Which is true. And if Clint has to quickly dodge thoughts of a certain someone in a crisp suit, well that's reality for you. He's always been cursed to want what he can't have.

"You are conveniently forgetting that I turn into a green rage monster sometimes," Bruce says, but he's smiling again.

Clint throws him a leer and winks. "Don't tell anyone, but I've always been something of a size queen."

Bruce throws his head back and laughs at that, which makes Clint inordinately proud of himself. He's not quite sure why he does it, maybe to prove a point, because Bruce seems convinced that he's kidding and nothing else, but Clint leans in and kisses him on the mouth, brief and gone again. Bruce's hand shoots up and Clint has a fraction of a second to be worried that he's going to get clocked - or worse that he woke up the Hulk - but it’s only to grab at his old ratty t-shirt and keep him in place while Bruce makes a strangled and needy sound. For some reason it wakes a ton of protective urges in Clint and he kisses Bruce again, dirty and wet. Bruce surges forward, eager and grabby, and when Clint breaks the kiss they are both panting harshly.

"You up for a commiseration buddy fuck?" Clint asks, searching Bruce's face. All he can see is lust and want.. 

"No strings attached?" Bruce counters, his hand shoved under Clint's t-shirt already. 

Clint nods because he really does like Bruce, but doesn't want to lead him on in thinking he wants more than sex.

"Yeah. Tension relief, fun for everyone and no awkwardness in the morning," he says.

Fortunately Bruce sees it as the honest offer it is and doesn't seem put out. In fact, he doesn't even answer, just surges forward to kiss Clint again and puts a hand on his dick over the pajama pants, making him hiss.

"I'll take that as a yes," Clint says when Bruce starts sucking kisses down his neck. It's all good and dandy, very hot, but Clint blocks Bruce from climbing on his lap. "Let's take this party somewhere more private. We wouldn't want to scandalize the good Captain if he happened to come down, huh?"

"Good idea," Bruce agrees with a chuckle, then starts dragging Clint towards the bedrooms. Bruce's room is closest, so that's where they end up.

One tends to forget it with his green alter ego, but Bruce Banner is wiry and deceptively strong. Clint finds himself slammed into a wall to be kissed hungrily and then pushed onto the bed, Bruce climbing right up after him. If he'd ever tried to imagine how Bruce would be with a new bed partner, Clint would have supposed that he'd be kind of shy... but no, definitely not right now. Bruce is very intense and focused in his quest to rid them of their clothes, determined to get to as much skin as possible in the least possible time.

There's an edge of desperation from them both that translates to roaming hands and aggressive kissing, with no pause apart from an occasional gasp when they try to catch their breath. It's been months since Clint hooked up - he can't even remember her name, if he ever knew it - and probably a while for Bruce, too, judging by the way he's acting.

Clint is pinned on his back, goading Bruce to move, grabbing his ass and pulling him closer. Their cocks are trapped between them where it's damp and hot, the friction just right to make it build and build. When Clint comes it's almost a surprise, the orgasm torn out of him from one moment to the next. It urges Bruce to rub against him with even more purpose and, with a low groan, he follows Clint over the edge soon after.

The well-being from a good orgasm spreads through Clint as Bruce lies on top of him, panting into his neck, a nice, heavy weight keeping him in place. Bruce is kind of clinging, but Clint doesn't mind if that's what he needs while he gets his bearings. It’s easy to tell when that happens because Bruces tenses suddenly and rolls away.

"Oh, huh, sorry, sorry," he mumbles and then grabs his previously discarded t-shirt to mop the mess they’ve made on their stomachs. The shyness Clint had expected before is here now, and Bruce gives him a little smile before settling on his back. "That... I needed that, thanks."

"No need to thank me," Clint says. "It was really good." 

Which makes Bruce smile again and finally look at him.

"Yeah."

Okay, so it was Clint’s hope that things wouldn’t be weird between them. He notices that Bruce starts to reach for him, but then then stops, as if he's not sure of the correct social conventions following a buddy fuck. He doesn't know the guy that well, but Clint would bet Bruce has never done that before. As far as Clint is concerned, there's no rulebook, at least not one he’s ever cared about.

If he thinks about it, Bruce is wary of social interactions in general, holding back more times than not. It’s an attitude that’s easy to understand, especially because most people give him a wide berth as soon as they know that he can turn into the Hulk. It must make for a pretty lonely life, at least until someone like Tony comes along and prove that the best way to deal with Bruce is to treat him like a normal person instead of a monster. The whole team has been doing pretty well in drawing Bruce out of his shell lately, or so Clint thinks.

But from the moment they started kissing in the living room, Bruce definitely acted as if he was touch-starved, which is a little heartbreaking. Clint can't remember anyone even clapping the guy on a shoulder for a job well done once the Hulk is gone. They do touch the Hulk - to soothe him, to try to move him or to congratulate him - but never Bruce. Well, once again, except for Tony, who's handsy with everyone. If it's not welcome Clint will back off, but he decides to scoot closer to Bruce, sharing his pillow, then he puts a hand on Bruce's arm and hooks a leg over his shin. If he's reading the situation right, it should help the guy relax. After a second where no one breathes, it works like a charm and Bruce goes boneless.

"You don't mind if I take a nap before I do the walk of shame?" Clint asks, eyes already drifting shut.

Bruce laughs. "Not at all," he says, sounding grateful and it's the least Clint can do. Bruce starts caressing Clint's arm up and down with a light touch, soothing, and it makes Clint yawn.

"Awesome."

He's feeling too good to get up, anyway. Soon he'll go to his own bed. 

In a couple of minutes.


	2. Commencing countdown, engines on

Clint doesn't know if it's because it's the full moon or if the supervillains had a convention where they plotted to coordinate their attacks, but this takes the cake. Steve had to split the Avengers up into pairs to cover more ground and contain the threats as effectively as possible - it's that kind of day. Hulk and Widow got the lizards with attitude in Queens, Iron Man and Cap are demolishing Doombots in Battery Park, while Thor and Clint are dealing with fire-breathing bats in Central Park.

"Why do we get the bats, huh?" Clint grouses on the team comms as he dodges one that got past Thor.

"Is there a problem, Hawkeye?" Cap's voice is tense over the line and a second later, there's a grunt and a very loud clang of metal on metal. 

Clint winces and belatedly thinks about the speech he's sure to get once again for distracting everyone in the middle of battle. Maybe by Steve, but more probably by Coulson, and if Clint loves to banter with the guy, he hates his I-am-disappointed-in-you look. "No, it's alright Cap, they're just really ugly. We’ve got this. Hawkeye out."

"I find that these creatures of the night possess a terrible beauty," Thor says, before smashing one flat.

The frigging bats from hell have an erratic flight pattern which would make it a challenge for anyone but Clint to bring down from a distance. Their bodies are as big as housecats with, at the very least, five feet of leathery wing span. And they occasionally breathe out white hot flames (experienced earlier from way too close, and Clint considers himself lucky that he didn’t get his eyebrows scorched off...)

Nonetheless, the things are not the brightest beasts in the villain's box, since they insist on dive bombing Thor, who gracefully whacks them with Mjolnir as if he's trying for Hank Aaron's record (nope, Barry Bonds doesn't count). Clint doesn't have a safe place to perch where he wouldn't be toasted in minutes, so he sticks by Thor, taking out as many bats as he can. By now there's a dozen bats left, and Clint curses when they mostly start skimming the ground, ducking between bushes and park benches, making them almost impossible to shoot from his location. It’s possible that the bats are adapting as they fight, which only reinforces the order that he and Thor have to get rid of them all. For the dozenth time Clint wishes he could get higher up to have a better line of sight, but there's no apparent solution. 

"Hawkeye!" Thor cries out, getting his attention. When he turns to his friend, Thor is gesturing for him to come over, then links his hands together at mid-thigh, palm up, in preparation for a lift. "Come, my friend, I will propel you!" he adds with a grin and Clint feels his own smile widen until it could split his face in two.

Clint starts running towards Thor, pulling two more arrows out of his quiver. There's absolutely no hesitation to what comes next: as soon as Clint reaches Thor and his foot hits the Norse god's hand, he's being launched high in the sky. He did acrobatic numbers back in the day, mostly as a backup, but Clint's not quite prepared for the force Thor uses, throwing him easily fifty feet in the air. The adrenaline rush is something else, but as always, adrenaline only makes Clint’s focus sharpen, and he manages three perfect hits before he realizes he's coming down fast. This could hurt. A lot.

He shouldn't have doubted Thor, who's right there to catch him. Clint doesn't quite understand how Thor manages to absorb most of the impact, but he's ready for it and when Clint’s feet hit his hands; he grips his boots hard enough that Clint feels the sole curve towards his feet. There's a little wobble as Clint fights to keep his balance, but then that's it, he's safe and he just starts laughing. Of course that's when a bat decides to attack, and it's only reflexes that have him reaching for another arrow and firing instead of being barbecued. 

"Take that, sucker!" Clint yells as the bat lands a least sixty yards away.

"Shall I propel you again?" Thor asks, still grinning.

And that... well, that is an awesome idea.

"Just a sec!" Clint says, readying three arrows. "How do we do it? I step down, then run and jump again?"

"I am confident I can make you reach sufficient height like this," Thor says. "Ready?"

Clint scans to locate the remaining bats and yeah, they're still flying low and being a general nuisance.

"Ready!"

And just like that, he's airborne again. It's not quite as high a throw as the first time, without the momentum of running into it, but it's enough to get a great vantage point on the surroundings and Clint doesn't waste any time, skewering one, then two of the fuckers. He's more prepared for the impact when he falls right back into Thor's grasp.

"Again!" he demands and only has a second to grab more arrows before it starts over again.

The adrenaline rush is something else. There's the swooping feeling of being launched like a missile combined with actually getting awesome results. Clint doesn't count how many times they do the whole act, but soon there's only one bat left, then none at all, and he whoops with joy when the last one falls to the ground. This time when he hits Thor's hands coming down, his friend releases the grip on his boots and Clint bounces off, pirouetting for good measure before landing on the grass. 

Clint's heart is pounding something crazy, he can't stop grinning and he's hard enough to pound nails, vibrating with the adrenaline scouring through his body.

"Oh hell yeah. That was awesome!" he exclaims.

"Indeed," Thor agrees before pulling him into a hug. 

Clint’s blood is rushing through his veins, which, combined with Thor’s armor - he's always loved medieval gear, so sue him - and those frankly terrific arms engulfing him, results in an involuntary groan of pleasure when his groin collides with Thor's thigh. He doesn't have time to be embarrassed when two massive hands frame his face and he's being kissed right out of words. The only thing Clint can do is to hang on (and maybe shamelessly rub against Thor's leg).

"Whoa!" he says when Thor lets go.

Thor smiles, all gorgeous and god-ly. "It is only appropriate to celebrate a great victory!" he says with a wink. 

"Yeah," Clint says, a little dazed. He knows he’s smiling stupidly, but jeez a half-god just snogged him, that's a cause for celebration all by itself. 

Clint dares to slide a hand over Thor's crotch and finds him definitely hard under the leather, which is another thrill for today. The man is smoking hot under any circumstances, but like this? The sudden wave of want that hits Clint is heady and he falls to his knees, determined to do something about that hard cock.

Thor seems totally on board, and in fact he cups Clint's cheek with a huge paw. "This pleases me."

"I hope to do just that!" Clint replies as he struggles with what serves as a belt buckle on Thor's armor

Clint manages to take Thor's dick out, which is unsurprisingly proportional to the rest of him (but that’s fine, Clint's always liked a challenge). There's a little nagging voice chirping in the back of Clint's head – it’s not the time to think too much about whom it sounds like - that's saying how unprofessional this is, that they are in public, that people could see and... well, it makes Clint want it even more.

He concentrates on licking and then sucking what he can get of Thor’s dick in his mouth while Thor leaves a hand on his neck, a thumb caressing the hinge of Clint’s jaw. Added together, the heat, the smell, the taste and the sexy little grunting noises Thor makes are a sensory overload that create an explosive mix with the adrenaline still buzzing through Clint's system. He lets go of Thor's cock just long enough to undo his own pants and shove a hand down his uniform, jacking himself off furiously as he starts blowing his friend again. It isn't long before he has to pull off to lay his forehead against Thor's hip as he shoots like a bottle rocket, choking on a harsh cry. 

His release reduces the urgency of the moment and as soon as he can, encouraged by Thor, Clint focuses on sucking him nice and wet. He looks up and the view is breathtaking: Thor’s hair is like a halo in the moonlight, his eyes dark and stormy, and there's an electrical charge around them that Clint's pretty sure he's not imagining. He heard that Norse paganism has picked up in the last couple of years and right now Clint's tempted to convert if it's always this fun. 

This is a kind of worship he can get behind.


	3. My imagination is rattling in its cage

And they’ve almost reached their destinations, too – said destination being the gym, where Clint has every intention of making sure Steve gets a good workout, in hope of making a dent in the dark mood he’s been in since the battle with the Wrecking Crew. It doesn’t matter if Clint is tired enough to fall asleep standing up, he'd managed to convince Cap that a little heavy bag would be the best thing to blow off some steam. Unfortunately, not ten feet from the gym they run right into Tony, who’s coming up the staircase leading to his workshop, holding a bag of frozen peas against his shoulder. A guilty look passes quickly over Tony's face, while Steve stands stock still, stopped mid-stride as he stares. From one second to next, the tension ratchets up to 11 for one Steve Rogers once again.

"You told me you weren’t hurt!" he hisses at Tony.

Tony shrugs, doing a bad job of covering a wince. "This is nothing," Tony has the gall to lie and Clint is only human, okay, he wants nothing to do with this. Since they are right next to the gym he slinks in to avoid the explosion. 

Clint spots the bright purple case of his StarkPod (and oh, does that name make Tony froth at the mouth and that's why Clint will never call it anything else, ever) and he wastes no time in plugging the earphones in, blocking out the shouting match going on outside with some Daft Punk. Clint's stuck in here unless he wants to chance a tactical retreat, and even though the mattresses look way comfy he decides to practice his roundhouse kick form. When Steve finally comes in, he's a very angry shade of red and visibly fuming. He strides straight towards the punching bag and Clint gets out of the way out of self preservation. He's seen Steve train several times, but the way he can make the reinforced heavy bag swing is always a source of wonder. Clint takes his ear-buds out.

"Want me to hold it a bit?" he offers.

Steve lands three powerful lefts, making the chain squeak alarmingly, before nodding.

"If you want," he all but grunts.

"I can at least try," Clint teases before taking position. "Try not to knock me over?"

"'Course not," Steve says, as he starts to pummel the bag with body hooks, relentlessly, right and left and right and left.

Clint leans in to keep the swinging to a minimum, but as Steve gets into it he starts hitting harder and harder until Clint wonders if he can get a secondhand concussion from the impacts that reverberate through his body. Frankly, he's holding on for dear life more than anything as Steve punches and punches and punches and punches again.

"Want me to draw a goatee on the bag?" Clint offers when it gets ridiculous and Steve stops abruptly, mouth open in shock.

"I don't want to _hurt_ him!" he exclaims.

Clint snorts. "Well, that makes you better than most. Tony's fishing to get hit most days." At Steve's glare, he hurries to explain. "Not that anyone would follow through. But the urge is there."

Steve hits his forehead against the bag and sighs deeply. "He's just so... so frustrating sometimes!"

Sweatpants are fantastic, they are Clint's favorites, but they have the downside of not hiding anything when there's a situation in one's pants. And right now? Little Cap seems all worked up too, and instead of doing the polite bro thing and pretending he doesn't see anything, Clint can't help piping up.

"I can see that," he tells Steve with a smirk, glancing purposely at the tent in Steve's sweats. 

"Oh, God!" Steve groans, sounding miserable and bringing both hands up to his face as he all but hide against the punching bag. 

"Adrenaline," Clint says, giving Steve an out even though he suspects it's way more than that. "Nothing to be embarrassed about."

Steve shakes himself a little and looks sideways at Clint, blue eyes a lot stormier than usual. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm so confused," he confesses and Clint doesn't quite know what to do with that. Is Steve expecting sex advice, here, looking at him like that? Because he'd never thought he'd give Captain America pointers.

"Maybe not," Clint agrees. "How do you feel about that?"

Steve sighs again and he drops down to the ground, sitting with his arms around his knees; Clint follows, angling so they're not quite face to face, hoping it will make it easier for Steve to talk.

"I don't know..." Steve trails off. "I've read that now... I know it's not bad, but... there was Peggy, and I loved her, I did for real, so I don't understand..."

The poor guy looks totally lost. Clint starts to wonder if he realizes...

"There's nothing wrong in liking guys, no," Clint says. Steve's looking into mid air, forlorn. "Like there's nothing wrong with liking both guys and girls, depending on who catches your interest."

Steve’s gaze sharpens at that, looking at him now. "Both?"

Clint nods. "Bisexual, look it up."

"Oh," Steve looks contemplative. "So..."

"But then again, we're talking about Tony Stark. He could make houseplants swoon," Clint jokes and Steve snorts in amusement.

"He's something, alright." 

And yeah, tell Clint about it. He's been trying to act perfectly blasé around the guy, but it's Tony Sex-on-Legs Stark they are talking about here. He'd tap that, repeatedly. 

Steve looks a bit better and Clint could leave him to untangle his feelings, but... if Steve doesn't talk about it now he might be too shy to open up to anyone else.

"Have you ever thought about guys like that, before?" he asks.

Steve eyes skitter down and to the side. "Some? Maybe? But almost always girls, so I thought it was just, you know, a being too close to my best friend and full of hormones with nowhere to go thing."

"Ask Tony out, you'll see how it goes."

Steve shakes his head vigorously. "Oh no. No way. What if it's honestly a case of being too close to my best friend and full of hormones with nowhere to go thing?"

"He'll help you find out."

"I can't... I can't do something like that! Jeez. Hey, Tony, would you go out with me? I think I might be in love with you, but I'm not sure if I can get through the sex part because I may or may not be bisexual?"

Of course Steve would whip out the L word at this point, Clint shouldn't be surprised. But that Steve doesn't want to lead Tony on is commendable.

"Okay, then. I can point you to the right bar and you'll have your pick to experiment with." Seriously. In a gay-friendly bar, Steve would have to bat guys away with a stick.

"A stranger?" Steve says almost with horror shaking his head. "No, no, that's not me."

"'Kay then, someone you know, if you want," Clint counters and it takes a lot of self restraint not to volunteer right there and then (because duh, Captain America). 

"What do you mean, someone I know?" Steve asks frowning in confusion. "You mean I know someone who’d..?"

Clint laughs. "Several someones, even." It's not his place to out Bruce, but he's sure Thor wouldn’t have any hang-ups about Steve knowing he plays for both teams. Clint suspects Asgardians don't give a damn about labels of any kind. "Like Thor and -"

Steve cuts his own admission short.

"Thor?" Steve looks honestly surprised, which proves he's not been paying attention. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Clint says. "You've got to be ready for a ride, though," he adds, waggling his eyebrows. "But in a good way."

Gaping a little, Steve finally catches on.

"Are you saying... you and Thor?" he asks. "I didn't notice..."

"Just the once, on an adrenaline high," Clint says with a shrug. "It was fun, and that was it. It's not like we're going to date or anything."

"Oh. Good for you?" Steve says, sounding quite uncomfortable.

It makes Clint laugh some more. "Yep. So, you know, if you're curious and want to experiment, we're a possibility."

Steve's throwing him little assessing glances from under those sinfully long eyelashes of his and Clint's blood starts running faster. 

"You'd do that?"

Clint bites on the _yes, please_. "With pleasure," he says instead with a wink. Okay so that was a bad line, but he wants to make Steve laugh if possible, relax a bit would be even better.

With fingers drumming on his knee, Steve stays silent for a while. Clint sprawls shamelessly back to rest on his elbows, stretching his legs and crossing them at the ankles, and he's gratified when Steve checks him out again, considering. 

"I don't even know... this is probably a bad idea," he says cautiously.

"Whatever you want, nothing more, and if it's not for you then you just stop, no harm, no foul. Offer stands, whenever you’re ready."

He expects Steve to say he'll think about it and hightail it out of there, so Clint's frankly surprised when Steve takes a deep breath and moves to straddle his thighs right then and there.

"Okay. What now?" he asks.

And isn't that a turn on, telling Steve what he should do to him. "Want to take my shirt off?"

Steve nods and after a little pulling, he throws the garment aside as Clint lies back down. Steve is observing him closely with a sexy look of concentration on his face and Clint's voice might get a little rough as he suggests moving this party along. "You can touch, too."

It's just the light touch of the pads of his fingers at first on Clint's collarbone, then edging his pecs, his stomach, brushing against the little hair he's got. Clint doesn't dare to do a commentary out loud, but he hums in contentment which prompts Steve to caress him more firmly with both hands, spanning his shoulders and moving down Clint's arms. 

"You have a beautiful body," Steve says, sincere as fuck and yeah, that works for Clint. He's almost twitching with the need to touch himself and to glide his hands under Steve's t-shirt at his turn. He's rapidly getting hard and there's no way that Steve will miss it, which should probably make or break this little experiment.

"It's different." Steve says, and he sounds so perfectly innocent and trusting, and... _oh, hello new kink_. Clint thinks he should feel bad to be this turned on about it, but he’s not that decent a guy.

"Yes, it is. But good different or bad different?" Clint asks.

"Different," Steve says once more, but then he sees Clint's dick taking interest and his hands falter.

"If you want to stop," Clint offers while chanting a litany of _please go on_ in his head.

Steve clenches his jaw in the very familiar shit-needs-to-get-done face that Clint knows from his team leader. It shouldn’t be that arousing and Clint sure hopes that he won't suffer from naughty associations in the field from now on and become inconveniently hard remembering this.

"Its okay," Steve says, voice firm. "Can I?" he asks, gesturing to Clint's crotch.

"Yeah," Clint says and he will deny until the day he dies that he's the one blushing the most here.

Steve hooks his fingers in Clint's shorts and boxers and pulls them down mid-thigh, exposing the goods. Steve's eyes are heated but a little wide, still weary, definitely unsure, but from what Clint can infer by the sweatpants, he's maybe half mast himself which proves this is not a total bust.

"You'd second guess a lot less with someone you actually want," Clint says, keeping his tone light and teasing.

That brings Steve's eyes up briefly to meet his, but his gaze skitters away immediately, still embarrassed. But then Steve _closes his eyes_ and slides his hand down, finally, brushing lightly against Clint's cock. It makes him twitch and it's better than nothing, but it's also frustrating. He's never going to get there if there isn't more stimulation.

But then Steve finally grips him, his huge hand warm and perfect, making Clint buck up in the quest for friction. One of Steve's hand pins his hip down firmly - okay, he knew about _that_ particular kink, thank you very much - and then obligingly Steve starts to stroke his cock with a good rhythm. The whole thing is making sparks fly all along Clint's spine because God, _Captain America_ is jacking him off, Jesus. Steve is still fully dressed, eyes closed (thinking about Tony, no doubt), but he's flushed, mouth lightly open as he breathes hard and he's so fucking gorgeous Clint is suddenly _right there_.

"Holy fuck, I'm gonna come," Clint manages to say, obviously shattering Steve's illusion, because his eyes pop open and he grips just a little tighter, sending Clint over the edge. He arches against the ground when pleasure hits and he's vaguely conscious that he's painting his own stomach with come. Steve stops moving his hand and when Clint manages to look, Steve looks absolutely fascinated. Clint's about to ask if he can reciprocate when Steve pats Clint's side and smiles sheepishly.

"Oh, well, this answers that," he says and... scrambles to his feet. 

"Wha-?" Clint says, still sex stupid. Steve's definitely hard now, he could do something about that... which doesn't seem to be an option because Steve is all but running out of the gym.

And like that, he's gone. Clint blinks slowly, cranes his neck, looks at his stomach and decides he didn't hallucinate the whole thing because... well he's covered with his own semen and his shorts are still mid-thigh. He's reaching for his t-shirt to mop most of the mess when the door opens and Steve pops his head back in the room.

"Sorry, I meant to say thank you. Really. So thank you, Clint." A little nod to punctuate and Steve's gone again.

Clint lets his head fall back down, bouncing on the wooden floor.

"You're welcome?" he says to the ceiling.

Not for the first time - even _today_ \- Clint wonders how this is his life.


	4. Work It Harder Make It Better

After the gym adventure, Clint expects that the UST between Steve and Tony will finally lead somewhere. Those two have been circling each other since the moment they’d met, the initial animosity dulling down over time until it morphed into a strong friendship. Oh, a friendship with a fuckload of arguments, that's for sure, but nonetheless Steve&Tony is a thing, they're almost attached at the hip. Or they were, as it happens, because suddenly, even though Steve is trying - badly - to be subtle about it, he's avoiding Tony the best he can. 

Out in the field everything is A-okay and it’s business as usual. But off it? Steve acts pretty much normal except when Tony is there. Clint would put it down to a temporary gay freak-out, but Steve's not been avoiding _him_ at all, even though the first couple of days were fidgety and without much eye contact. They still spar, and Clint may or may not have had hot flashes the first couple of times those hands held him down in any way, but it only took a joke or two and Steve was laughing with him, amused more than embarrassed. 

Some may say Tony Stark is self-absorbed, but he's definitely noticed the Steve Rogers-sized hole at his side by now. There's only so many excuses Steve can make to avoid going to get a coffee or watching a movie with Tony before he notices. The result is that, more often than not, Tony reverts to asshole mode when he's brushed off. Case in point is the train wreck happening right in front of Clint's eyes.

He'd been on the roof with Tony to test how the new fletchings for his arrows Tony had developed react to live conditions - Tony still talks about building their personal wind-tunnel, though they're not there yet - when Steve comes out, sketch pad in hand. It's a fraction of a second, but his face falls before he composes a sunny smile. Tony saw the tell too and grows tense all over.

"Hey guys, what are you doing?" Steve asks.

"You're a bright guy, I'm sure you can guess," Tony snarks, taking an arrow and passing it over.

Clint fits it to the bowstring. "New vanes, more precision. Not that I actually need help in that department, but they’re pretty cool," he says, nudging Tony with an elbow.

Tony snorts. "Keep telling yourself that and then come back to kiss my feet when you can fire these babies in a hurricane and hit a bullseye without even trying. I have no idea why, for a weapon that's been, you know, basically the same for fourteen thousand years, no one ever thought to..."

He's about to launch in the expected techno-babble laced with mockery that is Tony's default language when Steve backs up towards the door leading to the tower. Normally, Steve loves hearing Tony rattle away even if he's no better than the rest of the world at understanding what he’s saying. He'd smile indulgently and use the well tested 'uh huh', 'really?' and 'that's cool' they all revert to. But he's not doing that right now, he's running away, _again_.

"That sounds great, I'll leave you to it then..." Steve says, still with that fake smile. Tony abruptly shuts up and in an instant all the shutters come down, just as quick as when the armor assembles around him. He holds up a hand. 

"No need, I'm done here," he says, storming towards the door and Steve quickly steps aside to let him pass, as if he'd get burned if they touch. Tony notices that too, and all but snarls at him, before doing the best he can to slam the door behind him.

Steve stares at the door, looking miserable, and all of the frustration Clint that has been piling up for two weeks now boils over.

"What the ever-loving fuck is the matter with you, Rogers?" he hisses. 

Steve's face falls even more before it morphs into something darker, angry, and he kicks at the wall beside the door with enough force bend the metal.

"Damn it!" he growls, and Clint's pretty sure he's _this_ close to punching the wall as well.

"Hey, Rogers!" Clint shouts, stalking over. "I asked you a question here."

The look Steve shoots him is fierce.

"It’s none of your business, _Barton_ ," he barks.

Clint might not stand a chance at one-on-one against Captain America, but that doesn't stop him as he gets in Steve's face, craning his head up to look at him in the eyes.

"The hell it's not. You’re hurting my friend for no reason at all here, so that makes it my business, do you get that?" he says, low and threatening.

Steve blinks and it's as if all of the fight goes out of him at once, leaving only hurt and self-loathing.

"Oh, God, I know. I know. I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I just want things to be normal again."

"Then stop acting like a tool. Tony thinks he did something wrong and that you don't want to be his friend anymore, why would you do that?"

"What? No! He didn't do anything wrong! Why would he think..."

Clint laughs bitterly. "Come on, Steve, you know Tony would blame himself for the dinosaurs going extinct if he found a way to do it. You don't want to spend time with him anymore, ergo in his mind he fucked up. Stark 101."

"Shit. It's not him, it's - 

"- it's you. Yeah right, that's always the greatest conversation to have. You decided you don't want to do anything about how you're attracted to him? Fine, I get that." Clint gets that way too much, in fact. "But don't make him pay for your cowardice. It's your fucking problem."

"It's not cowardice," Steve says, jaw set. 

"Tactical reasoning?" Clint mocks. It's not like he can't relate, he's got unattainable dreams too, but he doesn't act like a jackass to the object of his affections.. "See if that keeps you warm at night, because newsflash, it doesn't. Get over yourself or you might lose a friend forever. Or even more than one."

Steve's hangdog expression is lethal so Clint goes before he can be mollified. Unsurprisingly, Tony went right down to his workshop, and JARVIS must sense it's not a good time to leave his boss alone because the door opens without Clint needing to punch in a code. It appears that Tony went straight to the armor, which again is not a big surprise. The fact that he's less than careful with it is, however.

"Are you trying to break it or what?" Clint asks as Tony pries off a gauntlet using a foot long screwdriver and an odd motion in a barely visible joint.

Tony tenses in surprise; he obviously hadn't heard him come in.

"Faster this way," he says. "What do you want?"

He's still pissed, that much is clear. But more than anything, he looks hurt and Clint can't brush that aside. 

"We still have some testing to do, I believe," he says. 

Tony sighs wearily. "Yeah, sorry about that. I've never been really good at dealing with being where I'm not wanted, so..."

Clint is surprised he's not avoiding the issue.

"We could kick Cap off the roof?" he offers.

Tony seems to surprise himself with a laugh and looks at him sideways with a smirk. "Nah, not worth the nagging. We tested enough, my new fletchings are awesome. What do you really want?"

Frankly he just wants to be sure Tony is okay, but he can't say that because he'd be brushed aside. But since sometimes Clint lies down in his bed at night thinking of cool stuff that Tony could maybe conjure up like a magician (and make it a hundred times better than his idea because that's just how Tony is), it's easy to voice one of those fantasies out loud.

"You may have noticed how I have the unfortunate tendency to fall off high rises?" he asks. 

"No kidding! That's why I have a feed on you at all times," Tony says with a smile and that Clint's being caught by metal arms more often than not is suddenly less surprising. 

"Really?" Clint asks, thoroughly pleased. Every leap of faith he takes on the field generally comes with a contingency plan, though never have his team let him down. He had no idea Tony was monitoring him specifically. On the other hand, he must be tracking everyone, that's just what Tony does.

"Well yeah. Do you have any idea how much shit we'd get from Coulson if you ended up pancaked on the pavement?"

Clint can't help the way his heart jumps at that before remembering that Phil would throw a fit at losing anyone.

"Still afraid of the taser, Stark?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny," Tony says with a wink. "So, what? About you falling, what were you thinking about?"

"Well I have that grappling hook arrow you made me that I keep as a last second kind of thing. But we assume that I'll be able to fire it when needed," Clint starts. Don't get him wrong, that arrow has more than once helped him get out of a hot spot, he loves it, but...

Tony's already turning to his table computer, snapping the monitors open and generating holograms out of thin air.

"Oh, I see," Tony says. "Maybe something you've got coiled on your person - unobtrusive, extra-strength wire with a hook and magnet in a throw-able head that can be either shot or manually thrown." 

"Or that I can secure before jumping," Clint offers. 

Tony snaps his fingers. "I could make it able to scan the immediate area and find a good anchor point if you’re in motion. It also could be activated by voice control."

And yes, that's exactly what Clint hoped for and more. They shoot ideas around and Clint sees it take life on the computer in a matter of minutes. Tony flaunts the word “genius” around, but he's entitled, because he really _is_ , and it's a thing of beauty to see in action. Creating something new helps with Tony's mood in an efficient fashion when he gets totally absorbed by it. Clint thinks he handled this crisis pretty well, if he says so himself. 

When they wind down and Tony gives JARVIS the instructions to start making a prototype, Tony checks a monitor and does a double take.

"Three already? Damn, time flies. I promised Pepper I'd go berate my engineers in R&D this afternoon. She suggested showing interest in their work for motivation purposes, but we all know it's going to end in bitter tears. If you want, I could let you see the plans for the new Quinjet?"

Clint gapes a little. "The _new_ Quinjet?" he asks. "It's barely six months old, and it cost, like, a billion dollars!"

Tony hand-waves the objection. "Eight hundred million or so. But as you said, it's _six months old_!" He makes it sound like that's a fatal flaw, complete with a horrified face. "The current Quinjet is a prototype, and I've collected enough data for improvements. Plus, I'll be able to lease it to SHIELD or the Air Force for a hefty fee when the new one's ready, so it's a win-win all around. You've piloted it, so if you have additional input, anything at all? Just tell JARVIS. JARVIS?"

"Yes, Mister Stark," the AI says and a 3D hologram model appears over the main worktable. It's sleek, utterly gorgeous, and Clint has absolutely no worries that it will kick all kinds of ass. With a sight touch to the side of the model, he can make it spin this way and that, seeing all angles. 

Tony is now at the live-in part of the lab, where Clint suspects he sleeps more often than not. There's a closet from which Tony fishes out a suit still in the dry cleaning bag; he then starts to strip out of his jeans and t-shirt to get dressed. Clint can't help looking because... well it's Tony Stark. When he told Bruce that someone good looking, funny, smart, and competent turned him on, he was not lying, and who embodies those qualities more than Tony Fucking Stark? He snorts when he notes the Ironman silk boxers as they disappear under perfectly tailored slacks, but then his gaze climbs up to Tony shrugging on a crisp dark grey shirt, skims the arc reactor, and travel upwards only to meet the man's eyes. Who's looking right back at him, head cocked to the side and considering. _Oh, shit,_ Clint has time to think as he turns his attention to the jet model once again, _you've totally been caught, Barton_. Horrors of horrors, Clint can feel his ears heat up. 

"Huh," Tony says and Clint looks back at him, determined not to let this be a big deal.

The bastard now has a predatory grin and there's absolutely no better word to describe what comes next but that he prowls towards him. 

"See something you like, Clint?" he asks, playful and seductive, which makes heat pool in Clint's gut. 

Clint can play the arrogant asshole part too, so he swallows his nerves and leans against the display table, cocking a hip and conjuring a smirk of his own. When Tony stops advancing, now just a couple of feet away, Clint gives him a slow and heated once over. He's pretty sure Tony is not messing with him right now, but he can give as good as he gets.

"You're not too shabby for an old man," he says once done, which makes Tony throw his head back and laugh.

"Ouch. Why so mean, Clint? And here I thought maybe we could have had a little fun together," Tony says, taking another step forward, bringing him within easy touching distance. His eyes never leave Clint's face, assessing every reaction.

"Because that's such a great idea," Clint says. In truth, he's lost that particular battle already, and he knows he's going to fold if Tony pushes even one bit. 

Tony knows it too and he laughs again. "Everybody knows I'm the king of bad ideas. But, we should never forget that I also own the market for very, very fun ideas, too." He reaches out to caress Clint's arm with the back of his knuckles. It makes goosebumps raise on Clint's arms, right up to the nape of his neck. "Come on, what do you say? I haven't been fucked in a while." 

Clint almost chokes at that, and he doesn't even have time to process that Tony is flush against his chest before he's being pulled into a kiss. Tony kisses to make a point and it's very, very convincing.

"C'mon," Tony coaxes against his lips when they barely break apart. "Getting laid would improve my day tenfold."

And... well it's a wet dream come true, Clint's not gonna lie. Instead of words, Clint answers by grabbing Stark's ass and pulling him flush, which makes Tony laugh and say, "Awesome. You won't regret this."

"What, you offer a guarantee?"

"You bet I do," Tony says, eyes sparking. "Great sex, don't accept anything else. For the record, I’ve never had any complaints."

"Yeah yeah," Clint says before kissing Tony again, helping him shrug off the shirt and then geting to work on the pants. Tony manages to undress Clint at the same time and for some inexplicable reason it feels like his hands are everywhere. When Clint's pants finally fall, Tony goes with them, kneeling as he helps him get them off. It's not surprising at all when Tony then looks back up with a devious grin.

"I suppose you won't mind if I suck your dick right now?" he asks, a hand already on Clint's cock; the bastard is literally licking his lips, eager. 

"Not at all," Clint all but squeaks (he doesn't think anyone could blame him).

"It's been a while since I've done this," Tony says brightly, as if he's glad for the opportunity, and then he just goes to town, doing a frankly indecent tongue trick before sucking him in.

It turns out that Tony Stark is one gifted cocksucker. It's a combination of impressive technique, enthusiasm, and an almost uncanny mind-reading ability that within two minutes has Clint gripping the workbench's edge hard to stay mostly still and not fuck Tony’s face. As absolutely hot as it is to see Tony Gag-Reflex-What-Gag-Reflex? Stark blow you, with his total focus cataloguing and exploiting every little reaction, Clint has to close his eyes or he's going to get off too fast. 

It's not that coming down Tony's throat isn't an appealing idea, because this is probably the best blow job he's gotten in his _life_ and he's rapidly losing all upper brain function, but there was another plan. A good one at that.

"Oh, God, fuck that's good," Clint pants. "But you talked about fucking?"

Tony pulls off and Clint opens his eyes, ready to take the words back because he wants that mouth on him again; that would be really good right about now instead of the cool ambient air. But looking at Tony is almost the jolt to send him over the edge because the damn dexterous bastard is actually prepping himself with the hand not holding Clint's dick, and has what looks like two fingers up his ass, maybe three. Clint groans and Tony squeezes the base of his cock firmly.

"Oh yeah, so don't you even think of coming yet," Tony says, voice rough from the abuse on his throat. Then, tragedy of tragedy, he gets up and Clint all but pouts before he's being kissed again. But a Tony on his feet means that Clint's got access to the fun parts now too, and he fists Tony's erection, reveling in the drawn out moan it pulls out of him. "Fuck yeah. Come on," Tony says, walking backwards towards the couch and taking the little nondescript bottle he's been using as lube with them. He stops to fish a condom out of one of his suit jackets and he all but purrs at Clint as he rolls it on his cock.

"So, are you going to give it to me?" he asks, eyes gleaming in a teasing dare.

"You bet," Clint says, manhandling Tony around and bending him over the couch's arm, which makes him laugh. 

"Ohhh, yeah, I like it. Come on," he says as Clint kicks his feet further apart and dribbles what turns out to be some kind of extremely slick oil from the little bottle Tony used on his fingers. He supposes that it must not be toxic or Tony wouldn't put it up his ass. Well in theory, because who knows with that guy? He slips two fingers right in, easy, and fuck, this is going to be so good. Tony's moaning shamelessly, pushing back on his hand and Clint can't help caressing the curve of his spine.

"You're gorgeous," he says, a little awed. "Open up for me," he adds, scissoring his fingers before adding a third that has Tony grunt and buck, not so silently asking for more. "You love it, look at you."

"Oh yeah," Tony pants, but since being a smart-ass doesn't seem to be hindered by sex, he follows it by: "I like it when you talk dirty to me, baby. Now if you could kindly fuck me..."

A pushy bottom, then; no one is surprised. 

"You're a piece of work," Clint says as he slicks oil on the condom and starts to push in. 

"Don't pretend you're surprised," Tony says with a laugh.

He's trying to be careful and considerate but Tony's doing most of the work, pushing back while not shutting up for one second with ordering Clint to just do it, fuck him, he doesn't have all day. Mostly it makes Clint laugh while trying not to lose it too soon; it feels fantastic and Tony nearly brought him to the edge only minutes ago, after all. He manages to pin Tony to the couch with a hand braced between his shoulder blades - the all-body shudder and shameless moan at that move is very very interesting - and then proceeds to fuck him hard and fast just to shut him up. It works up to a point: monosyllabic words and curses are the best he can hope for, it seems. 

Clint keeps Tony down with the hand on his back and the other with a firm grip on his hip, hanging onto his control by sheer force of will. He's got a chance to fuck Tony Stark, and he's gonna make sure it's good for him (there's pressure to perform with a guy who's gotten around so much, Clint's competitive like that. Right now, though, Tony seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself).

"How's that?" Clint pants.

"Great, yeah, fuck. Just..." Tony shifts minutely, changing the angle slightly and he gets even louder, makes it hard to keep Clint’s own arousal in check. If he doesn't finish Tony soon, he's going to come first and that's not what Clint wants at all.

"You feel so great, God," Clint says, and he can feel it building, he's got to speed this up. The obvious solution is to pull Tony a bit closer to him and then reach around, gripping his cock, which makes Tony shout.

"Yes, yes, please, come on," he starts to beg and it's slick and easy to jack him, he's so wet with precome.

"Are you going to come for me?" Clint asks, speeding his strokes as Tony all but squirms against him, pushing back to take what he needs, all sensual moves and total abandon. Clint's never been with a guy who enjoys being fucked that much, or sex in general that fully, and it's incredibly arousing. "That's it, come on," Clint coos when Tony's rhythm finally starts to get slightly erratic.

It's just before he comes that Tony falls totally silent at last, as if suspended on the edge before crashing, shuddering in Clint's grasp. His orgasm makes him spasm around Clint's cock in such a way that he finds himself racing to the finish line too, barely managing to fuck Tony through it before he comes with a grunt, pleasure so vivid it punches the breath out of him. It takes long seconds before he gulps air again, rocking slightly to ride the aftershocks as Tony finally finds his voice back. 

"Oh yeah," he says, almost purring with contentment.

Clint's drained, to be honest, and it's through a haze that he pulls out and ties the condom. Tony gets rid of it and then Clint slumps down on the other end of the couch while Tony wipes off the mess with the previously discarded clothes. He should get dressed and think about leaving, but Clint thinks he deserves a second to bask in the satisfaction of crossing one item off his bucket list. 

Tony flops down on the couch, too, his head in Clint's lap and grins up at him.

"That was great!" he declares, stretching both arms over his head like a satisfied cat.

It's impossible not to smile back and Clint loves how totally at ease Tony is right now. His hair is ridiculous, sticking up all over the place and Clint combs his fingers through it.

"Yes it was," he agrees. He's been on a lucky streak lately. 

Suddenly an idea flashes through his brain and Clint starts to laugh. He's like a Pokemon Master, but for sex with the Avengers. He remembers hearing all about Pokemons from the little brother of an ex and how the goal was to catch them all. That's pretty much what Clint did. Every. Single. Avenger. He so wins.

"What?" Tony asks, curious. 

"Nah, it's nothing. Just cracking myself up here, don't worry." If only Tony knew he was the last... Clint's not sure if he'd be offended by that or if he'd be pleased that he wasn't the easiest to get.

"I want to laugh, too," Tony pouts.

"I can't just be in a good mood?" Clint asks. It makes Tony grin, and he probably puts it down to the sex (which he would be 95% in the right about).

With a last comb of Tony's hair, Clint bends down and kisses his forehead before he manhandles him out of the way and gets up. Where are his boxers again? Right, by the work bench. Clint whistles the Pokemon theme song as he puts on his clothes and he can't help but notice that Tony looks beside himself at having info withheld from him.

"JARVIS, what's that tune?" Tony asks, as he starts getting dressed too.

Clint stops abruptly, but of course JARVIS has an answer. "It appears to be a quite passable rendition of the Pokemon theme song."

Tony makes a face and Clint worries for a second that he's going to make a connection - he won't, right? - before Tony shrugs it off. 

"You’re weird. You know that, right?" Tony says.

Clint laughs again and winks. 

"It’s part of my charm," he says. He's still damp with sweat and his t-shirt is sticking to his body uncomfortably; he definitely needs to go shower. "See ya," Clint says.

"Yeah, I see how it is, wham bam and no gratitude at all. Didn't peg you as a love 'em and leave 'em type of guy." The banter is genuine and Clint can clearly read the underlying relief that things are easy and comfortable right now in Tony's body language, even when the heat of the moment has passed.

Clint grins as he opens the door, exiting backwards, "Uh huh, didn't you patent that move? Do I need to play royalties?" 

He has to duck a rolled sock and laughs as he closes the door between them, stopping the second sock from hitting him on the forehead. Clint takes a moment to savor the moment because holy shit, he really just fucked Tony Stark. The elation lasts for about 2 seconds because when Clint turns around it's to see a stern Steve Rogers who's scanning him up and down. He looks at Tony's sock and back again. Great, just what Clint needed. But he won't feel bad about this, oh no he won't. 

"Steve," he says with a nod, fully intending to leave it at that as he walks past... only to have his arm grabbed. 

"What is going on here?" Steve all but hisses as he stops him. He _looms_ , which Steve generally keeps for Supervillains, but Clint won't be intimidated.

"You're a bright guy, I'm sure you can guess," Clint parrots Tony's earlier line.

Steve's nostril flare, and Clint doesn't know if it's because he reeks of sex or if Steve's just so jealous he's greener than the Hulk. The hand on Clint's bicep squeezes a bit tighter.

"You little - " Steve starts, but Clint cuts him off immediately.

"Oh, shut up. You made it clear you wouldn't make a move, you have no right to be pissed."

The truth doesn't seem to mollify Steve all that much.

"I never said that," Cap protests vehemently, but it's a dirty lie. Earlier on the roof, it was absolutely clear he never planned to man up. "Now I'm going in there, and if all goes well you'll keep your hands off him."

Clint snorts. "Caveman much? I'll keep my hands off if Tony says so. Who, by the way, jumped _me_ and not the other way around," he can't resist adding, because Clint got a great afterglow ruined and he's pissed off.

He shakes Steve's hand off his arm, who all but growls at him before turning to the workshop door. Clint barely resist the urge to stick his tongue out as Steve enters his code and storms in, and he hears a surprised 'Steve?' before the door shuts. Okay, so that could go either very well or very badly for them, but it's not Clint's concern anymore; he flips the bird at the door before turning to go towards his room.

Clint must have done absolutely terrible things in a previous life because Phil Coulson, of all people, is standing ten feet away, jaw clenched, and Clint's stomach drops to the vicinity of his heels. What is it with this fucking corridor right now that’s bringing on the most inappropriate encounters possible at the worst possible time? Clint straightens up because it's not like he's ashamed or anything, but he expects Phil to make a crack about how he hopes he just hallucinated Clint and Steve fighting over Tony. Instead, what happens is that there's a flash of genuine hurt on Phil's face before he covers it up with the blandest expression ever. They stare at each other silently for long seconds before Phil turns around and sees himself out. 

Clint's been shot in the gut before, so he knows that kind of pain, and it's pretty much what this moment feels like. Fuck. Maybe, just maybe, Phil had been interested in him after all and Clint just ruined everything.


	5. If you want to take me for a ride

It's been a while since Clint let the mess of unrequited feelings that his love life consists of bring him down. He tries not to think about it and he's gotten pretty good at denial (it's just a silly crush, it will go away, he doesn't need anyone in his life anyway). But the thing is, Clint's been carrying a torch for Phil for a long time and in the name of sheer survival he’s mostly found a way to live around it. He’s accepted that there's a pinch in his heart when he daydreams too much, and he’s decided that he's fine with it. Fake it until you make it and all that. 

He didn't dream the tension in the corridor and Clint is haunted by the face Phil made and the multiple "what ifs" that come with it. He's not sure he's strong enough to face Phil, though, because getting a definite answer that nothing will ever happen now would be too much to handle. Not making a move has had the advantage that Phil couldn't say 'no' and that Clint could keep on feeding that persistent crush. Maybe it's best if he avoids Phil for a little bit. 

A job like theirs, as crazy as it is, unfortunately means that they live in each other pockets, which is why Clint is surprised that the avoiding is pretty easy. It does help that they're not called out for two days in a row, thanks to minor deities for small favors. The mansion is big enough that Clint avoids most everyone, in fact. Even while doing so, it's impossible not to notice Steve and Tony make up. In fact, they are sickeningly cute: Tony has a permanent smile on his face - a real one for a change - and Steve isn't much better. Cap's too much of a good guy to flaunt it in Clint's face, but he does oh so casually keep Tony close whenever they happen to be in the same space; who knew Cap was so possessive? If they seemed joined at the hip before, they are always together now, which puts them in second place of people Clint wants to avoid. Clint isn't an asshole, he's happy for them, and he knew that there would never be more than sex for him with either Cap or Tony, but it contrasts painfully with how lonely he feels. It's been so long since someone cared for him just as much as he did for them. 

But work is work and he can't mope around forever, as tempting as it is. When it's been four days and he bumps into Maria Hill at the tower he's ready for some action. Shooting something full of arrows other than targets could be therapeutic.

"Got something for us?" Clint asks brightly.

She smirks and jiggles a couple of files. "Nah, sorry, I just came by to drop this off for Rogers."

And that is... weird because those files are definitely Phil's stuff, he'd recognize the chicken scratch on the tabs anywhere. To Stark's total frustration, there's some stuff Fury and Coulson keep on paper only and if for some reason it's allowed to leave headquarters Phil generally handles it himself. 

"Where's Coulson?" he asks reflexively.

"He's on a mission," Maria says, frowning as if she's surprised he doesn't know. 

It's the first Clint’s heard of it, and as far as he knows, there was nothing scheduled. Clint doesn't want to jump to conclusions - Fury does send Phil on critical missions now and then - but if Phil asked for it and needed to get away, that's bad.

But there's no mission for _him_ , nothing to keep Clint's mind occupied but training and mindless TV, which leaves him tossing and turning at night as he thinks of all of those times he should have said something to test the waters, when he could have flirted a little more heavily, and how he could have kept it in his pants and not slept with all his colleagues, and how he's fucking tired of pining after someone when it brings nothing but heartbreak.

***

Clint is a bit wary of going down to Tony's workshop, he's not been there since that fateful afternoon, but he's been summoned so it would be weird not to go. The door opens for him without a code again - he's expected after all - and Clint walks right up to Tony who's working in the back, bobbing his head to electronic music with lots of base. 

"You wanted to see me?" Clint asks.

Tony beckons him closer and Clint sees that Tony is putting finishing touches on a new uniform for him. It looks basically like his current one - black and purple, sleeveless - but there's a small chrome device on one side.

"Yes, hi," Tony says with a smile when he looks up at him. "I've got this for you."

"The harness?" Clint asks.

Tony nods and gives him the new vest. "Yeah, hidden in the lining. It's mostly what we talked about, but I thought of a thing or two afterwards. I meant to give it to you before, but you've been... scarce."

Clint snorts. "Sorta. Let's just say it's been suggested that I keep my distances." It's mostly true, but it also sounds less pathetic than admitting he's been moping and avoiding Tony on purpose because he can't stand to witness his honeymoon phase with Cap.

Tony frowns and then it dawns on him that it's probably because of his new boyfriend.

"Steve said that?" he asks, surprised.

"Cap's pretty territorial," Clint confirms with a wink and it makes Tony grin.

"Really?" He looks absolutely delighted about that. 

"The hickeys didn't clue you in? I thought you were smarter than that." Tony's got a mark that's hidden only when he wears shirts with ties that just won't fade, no matter how many days it's been since Clint first saw it - the day after the workshop tryst in fact. 

Tony knows exactly what Clint's talking about because he reflexively brings a hand up to press right on it.

"He's a biter," Tony confirms smugly and okay, Clint really doesn't need to know all about their surely amazing sex life, thank you very much. The guy is genuinely happy for once, though, that much is obvious and Clint realizes that if whatever is going on falls apart, Tony will take it a lot harder than Steve. 

"Speaking of sex, Steve told me about how you helped him sort things out," Tony adds with a smirk.

"Did he?" It's surprising that Steve confessed it to Tony, but then not really, knowing the guy.

Tony winks. "You dog." 

Clint laughs. 

"I lay back and thought of America," Clint says with his most innocent face.

Tony laughs too. "Yeah, right. But thanks. So, do you want to test your brand new toy?"

***

Clint almost jumps out of his skin when Natasha appears out of nowhere and plucks the bud of his StarkPod out of his ear. Jesus, she's a menace to fragile hearts everywhere.

"Really? Damien Rice?" she asks, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow. "What's the matter with you?"

Natasha doesn't like meddling, but they've known each other for a long time. Maybe she thinks she's doing him a favor by asking.

"Nothing."

"You’re pathetic. We're taking a couple of days off," she declares.

That is surprising. "What? We can't do that."

She starts pulling on his arm and Clint has to follow or she'll wrench it out of its socket. 

"Yes, we can. Steve and Fury already approved it, so let's go pack your bag."

"Nat..." he protests.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," she says.

And that, it seems, is that.

***

 

In the end they go hiking in the Catskills. They both have their communicators in case something serious happens and knowing SHIELD they'd be back in time to kick ass. 

As much as Clint hates to admit it, the change of air does him a lot of good. At the end of the second day, when the campfire is burning nicely, Natasha opens her backpack to produce everything needed to make s’mores. Clint can't help it: he forcibly traps her into a hug while she hits his arms and demands to be let go

"Enough already, ugh!" she protests. "Don't infect me with your feelings!"

"You love me, you really do," Clint teases, squeezing harder. 

"I am reconsidering that at the moment," she says with a sigh and Clint kisses her temple before letting her go.

"Thanks," Clint says, hoping he's conveying how much her friendship means to him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, and Clint smirks because Natasha is a great friend, but she hates heart to hearts.

"Nah, it's okay."

And it is. Clint can't continue to beat himself up over this because he cannot change what happened. Having sex with Tony was maybe not his best idea, but it had been fun and they were both single, after all. It's not like he'd cheated on Phil because they had actually never talked about this... possible _thing_ between them. 

Natasha claps his leg hard. "Come on, let's put out the fire and turn in."

"Sure," Clint agrees. He's been well trained.

***

Since they formed the Avengers Initiative, it's been all penthouses and five-star hotels instead of crashing in shacks or abandoned houses. Clint's gone soft, but it only takes a noise to wake him up, just as always. It's still dark, and Clint stays immobile, trying to guess what exactly it is he's hearing.

"Five bucks it's a porcupine," Natasha says, voice rough from sleep (or lack of it). 

"Mmmm," Clint answers. He knows better than to bet against the girl. "Could be."

The air in the tent is sharp and cold when Clint worms out of his sleeping bag.

"Told you it's nothing," Nat grumbles.

"Well I'm up, I need to take a piss," he tells her.

"No need for details, Barton," she says before burrowing down in her bag.

The horizon is barely lightening, that's how early it is, but Clint is inexplicably awake by now. He won't tell her, but Nat was right because a big ass porcupine ambles off towards the tree line, leaving whatever it was trying to snack on behind. Clint relieves himself and then stops by their dead fire pit for a little while, listening to the sounds of the forest. It's far from silent, but Clint's grown used to the sound of constant traffic and sirens that New York brings and the contrast is enough to make him pause. It's the cold that drives him back in the tent, his worn t-shirt too light to keep the chill away. He's about to crawl in his bag when Nat unzips hers.

"Come here, I'm cold," she demands.

He laughs. "I'm freezing, it won't help any."

Even in the dark he can imagine the eye roll, so he obeys and zips his bag to Nat's before climbing in. They've shared space often enough in the past that he knows to settle down on his back as she curls up at his side, head on his chest. Automatically his arm goes around her shoulders and his other hand to her hair since old habits die hard.

"You _are_ cold, jeez," Nat accuses.

"Sorry," he answers, though he isn't really. She's hot as a furnace, whatever she says. 

In contradiction to her words, Nat only snuggles closer, inserting a leg between his. Clint wills his dick to stay down since in recent months when they’ve snuggled it’s been totally platonic, but it's not easy. He's only starting to doze off, lulled by the heat building up around them and the regular rise and fall of her breathing when Nat slides a hand under his t-shirt and starts to rub her thumb back and forth over his ribs. It's subtle, but it's a definite opening and Clint can't help a little laugh.

"I'm starting to wonder... I might have been hit with a pheromone gun or something."

"Mmmm?" Nat all but purrs, her hand wandering to his chest.

"I'm not complaining," Clint adds. He definitely doesn't when Nat lifts up her head so they can kiss. They've been through a lot over the years and Clint genuinely loves her, though he knows they'll never work together as a couple. Too many issues, the both of them, and they are just not looking for the same things in a relationship. Friends with benefits they can do though, when the moment is right. "What do you want, baby?"

That earns him a slap to the back of his head.

"Told you not to call me ‘baby’," Nat says, rolling onto her back and urging him to follow until he lies on top, bracketing her with his arms. He rolls his hips, grinding his erection against her mound, but she pushes firmly on his shoulders in a clear directive to go south. "I want your mouth on me."

You've got to give it to Nat, she knows what she wants and she's not afraid to ask for it. There's been a lot of dick in Clint's recent past, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love fucking women too, and eating pussy is no hardship at all. 

The advantage in having slept together on and off for years is that Clint knows exactly how to please Nat and after undressing her he licks and sucks while finger fucking her slowly until she comes with a low moan and a death grip in his hair. She's soaking wet and tastes and smells amazing, so he ignores her protests that it's too sensitive to continues to lick her clit softly until she starts grinding against his face again; he brings her into a second orgasm, even harder than the first. Clint smiles as Natasha flaps a hand towards her bag, her perfect composure shot to hell for once. 

"Bag, give me..." she demands, snapping her fingers.

Dutifully Clint pulls her backpack closer and she fishes out a strip of condoms from one of the side pockets. 

"Did you plan this?" he teases. "I'm feeling quite abused here."

"Men are wimps and afraid of me, it's getting frustrating," she says, helping him get rid of his shirt, sweats and boxers. She loses no time in rolling the condom on his cock, making Clint gasp. "Now shut up and fuck me."

"Yes ma'am," Clint says, sliding right home and it's so easy, so good.

Natasha moans and starts moving in counter-time with his thrusts, their rhythm steady and slow like a well-oiled machine. As always it's good, great even, and Clint could get lost in this. It only takes a nudge from Nat and they roll over as she begins to ride him, gleaming and beautiful in the soft light that's just starting to brighten the tent. Natasha fucks like she fights, graceful and potentially deadly, and Clint finds himself enthralled at the sight.

"Tell me again why we're not together?" he asks, hands sliding up her sides and going to cup her beautiful breasts, thumbs flicking her hard nipples until she grinds harder on him.

"You know we'd implode. It came close to that before," she pants, fucking herself harder on his cock, taking what she needs from him and he's more than happy to let her.

"Yeah," is the only thing he manages to say. Choosing to salvage their friendship was the best idea they've ever had and they both know it. "I love you," he tells her anyway.

She smiles and bends down to kiss him lightly on the mouth. "I love you too. Now let me do this, I'm about to come," she says.

Clint grins. "Again."

"Yeah, got that right," she says with a laugh. "But this time I'm taking you with me," she promises, clenching around him hard and Clint bucks up. Shit, he's so close now. But that's okay because Natasha is grunting and rolling her clit with her fingers, faster and faster until she cries out and comes again. As predicted Clint follows her right over the edge, the rush of pleasure bright and strong.

It takes them minutes to disengage and get into their usual snuggling position, but by then Clint is almost out already. He notes distantly that it's practically too warm now with the dual whammy of the sleeping bag and Natasha's skin all along his side.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk?" Natasha murmurs into his collarbone, punctuating the question with a jaw-breaking yawn.

Overcome with a strong swell of affection, Clint kisses her forehead. 

"No thanks. I'll be okay," he says honestly. Then he can't resist. "Baby."

He gets a vicious pinch to the sensitive skin over his ribs for his smart mouth, but then things go quiet again and he's lulled back to sleep, more content than he's felt in a while. 

He _will_ be okay. Eventually.


	6. We should write 'em again on wet cement

Clint's thoughts are clearer when they get back to town very early on a Sunday. He's an adaptable guy; it's not the first time he didn't get what he wanted, and that's just life. After a real shower - yeah, he's definitely gone soft, he had missed the fancy jets so much - Clint goes to get a snack. Steve's already in the kitchen with the paper and a coffee and Clint sees him too late to change course without him noticing. 

"Oh, hey, you're back," Steve says. 

"Yep." Clint opens the fridge, but there isn't much of anything in there but beer and condiments. There are days when this place, as fancy as it is, is just like an unimaginably upscale frat house full of very dangerous people. He makes a face and takes out the Cheese Whiz.

Unfortunately, Steve is still there when Clint gets the bread. And he's fidgeting.

"I would like to apologize," Steve says.

It's surprising enough as an opening that Clint turns to him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"For my behavior, these last few weeks. Especially, you know, outside Tony's workshop," Steve says with a wince, rubbing at his neck. He means it, too, which makes it nearly impossible to stay pissed.

"Hey, it's okay."

"No, it's not. I was jealous and confused and handled everything very badly," Steve says.

Clint sighs. "You were kind of an ass, but it happens to everyone. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you," Steve says with feeling.

They're silent for a little bit, and if it's a bit awkward, it's thankfully not unfriendly.

"How was your trip?" Steve asks at last.

"Very nice. We did almost get mauled by a bear, though."

"Really?"

"I said ‘almost’," Clint says with a smirk. "Nat just looked at it sternly and it turned around and fled."

Steve laughs at that. "Smart bear."

"Indeed," Clint agrees with a wink, and just like that the atmosphere changes. Steve senses it too and grins at him, wide and happy. 

Right about then a zombie-like Tony dressed in pajamas appears in the kitchen, drapes himself over Steve's back like a boneless limpet and steals Steve's coffee cup, who lets him do as he pleases with a fond smile. Only after he's downed half of the cup does Tony notice Clint.

"Oh, hey!"

"Hi Tony," Clint says around a bite of his Cheese Whiz laden toast.

"Good thing you're back," Tony says.

Clint frowns. "What? You had trouble? We didn't get called in."

He'd not heard about anything serious going on while driving back either.

"Nothing much," cuts Steve. "It wasn't worth bringing you guys back."

"It's trouble that starts with Coul and ends with Son, yeah," Tony says. "He's back, and creepier than ever, the psycho."

"He's not a psycho," Clint protests.

So Phil's back, Clint had wondered about that.

"He's been asking for you," Steve mentions in a way that he probably thinks is casual, but Clint and Tony can read his too-casual-to-be-nothing tone by now. Tony peels himself off Steve's back to look at his face.

"What was that? What do you know that I don't know? How is it relevant that Coulson wondered where Barton was? It's his job to count us like a mother hen counts her chicks," Tony says.

"He asked three times when _Clint_ was coming back." 

"Three?" Clint and Tony say at the same time. Okay, so that's out of character.

"In two days. Even after I said I didn't know the first time," Steve adds, his eyebrow climbing up towards his hairline in a pointed look and Tony whistles low.

"Ohhh, interesting development. How long has this been going on, huh?" he asks.

"There's nothing going on," Clint says, before stuffing the rest of his toast in his mouth all at once. There, too busy chewing to talk. But what the hell, three times? Phil is a consummate professional, he doesn't ask questions for nothing.

"Three times, Barton," Tony says, wiggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous fashion. 

"Leave him alone," Steve says.

"What, you want me to shut up about this?" Tony says with a mocked outraged face

"Yes," Clint says after swallowing his toast. Steve nods.

"I can't believe this, you're a bigger gossip than I am-" Tony protests, but then Steve grabs him by the back of the neck and shoves his tongue in Tony's mouth. He’s got to give it to the guy, it's an effective technique. And really pretty hot. For all of their not so subtle touching and doe-eyed looks, Steve and Tony had been pretty good with keeping the PDAs on the down low up until now, at least in Clint's presence.

What had mostly started as a joke seems to derail on Steve, though, as Tony deftly straddles his lap right there on the kitchen chair and the kissing gets heavier, both guys totally lost in each other. Clint gets his phone out and records a minute for blackmail purposes - and possible wank material - then slinks out of the kitchen, letting them be. Hands are starting to sneak under clothes and Clint's not sure he's been invited to that party.

Anyway, he's decided he's got to go find Phil. If anything, it's best to clear the air sooner rather than later.

***

It's late on a Sunday morning, but Clint doesn't doubt he'll find Phil at SHIELD. Clint checks the gym, the range and the common areas first - a semi public meeting would be maybe a tad easier to handle - but doesn't see him there. In the corridor leading to Phil's office, Clint starts to second guess the decision to come here at all. He could wait to see Phil again in a team meeting and gauge the weather then. Or wait until Phil comes to him, as it seems he's been trying to do.

He's about to turn tail when Phil's door opens and the man himself steps out, eyes on a report; it takes a fraction of a second before he sees Clint. 

"Hey, hi," Clint says, which is lame but could have been worse.

Phil is pretty neutral, hard to read as always.

"You're back," he says.

"We're stating the obvious now?" Clint teases.

"Looks like it," Phil answers. It also looks like he might smile. Jeez, Clint tells himself for the millionth time, he's such a sucker for that man. But this conversation is going stale very fast.

"Look, can we talk?" Clint asks and he's absolutely appalled that it came out of his mouth. It was not in his plan to say that at all. He just meant to say ‘hi’, get a read on the level of awkwardness and possibly make a joke or two to see if he could get their usual rapport back on track. Nowhere in there were the words 'can we talk?' to be used.

Phil looks taken aback, too, but he gestures to his office. "I thought that's what we were doing, but sure."

"Don't be a smart-ass," Clint says as he enters.

"Right, that's your thing," Phil retorts without missing a beat.

This is easy, their banter is intact, and that's great, right?

When Phil closes the door, he turns to lean against it while Clint sits on the corner of the desk. This is where the whole clearing the air thing gets tricky: the need to actually talk about stuff.

"Are we good?" Clint asks. 

"What?" Phil looks confused.

"The other week, in the corridor, it was kind of awkward and I haven't seen you since," Clint forces himself to say.

Phil looks away. Phil _never_ looks away.

"What you do in your downtime is none of my business," he says.

"It could be," Clint says, but it was too low, Phil probably didn't hear. Clint pretty much didn't _want_ him to hear.

But yeah, just his luck, it figures that Phil has bionic ears.

"What?" Phil asks, looking back at him and frowning.

While away with Natasha, Clint had time to think about how he's been reacting to whatever or whomever life has thrown his way lately. It's been fun, but it hasn't been what Clint wants, and in order to rectify that, then maybe he has to work for it (or maybe die trying). He pushes off from the desk and walks towards Phil, stopping a foot or so from him.

The frown hasn't left Phil's face, but he's uncrossed his arms at least.

"There's something I've meant to do for a while now," Clint says, and he's so incredibly nervous right now, his stomach is tied in knots. 

"What would that be?" Phil asks. Wonders of wonders, he looks a bit nervous, too. For a fleeting instant his eyes go down to Clint's mouth and it's the jolt Clint needs to push the words out.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go see a movie with me? Maybe grab a bite to eat, too," Clint asks.

And there it goes. By the looks of it, he's managed to throw Phil BAMF Coulson for a loop. There's a long moment of silence where Phil searches Clint's face for... what, a confirmation that it's not a joke maybe? Whatever Phil is looking for, it takes everything Clint's got not to fidget under his gaze.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Phil asks.

Clint nods holding his breath. "I am."

Almost every time he daydreamed of doing just this, Clint had always imagined that Phil would list all of the reasons why dating would be against the rules and how they have an important working relationship that should not be messed with. Clint's thoroughly unprepared when Phil slowly smiles,

"I'd like that, yes," Phil say and it's Clint's turn to be shocked. Can it be that easy? With a grin of his own, Clint rocks back on his heels and stuffs his hands in the front pocket of his sweatshirt (it's so tempting right now to grab Phil and kiss him, but he's got to do this right).

"Awesome! When are you free?" he asks.

Phil shrugs. "Barring an act of villainy or an alien invasion... tonight?"

It makes Clint smile even wider. "Cool! What if I pick you up at six, so we can make it to the early show?"

"Sounds good."

And they stand there, looking stupidly at each other and Clint really has to gather all of his control not to move too fast and pin Phil to that frigging door. 

"Okay, then," Clint says with a nod and he shuffles a bit sideways before Phil does too so he can reach the door. "I'll leave you to... whatever brings you to the office on a Sunday, and I'll be back at six, front door."

"See you then," Phil says, still smiling, and Clint steps out and closes the door after a frankly embarrassing little wave. As soon as he's safely out of sight, Clint fist pumps enthusiastically, though he refrains the whoop of joy. Oh hell yes, he just scored a date with Phil Coulson. Easily, too, meaning that Phil actually likes him back, no way to misjudge that. 

It's going to be _awesome_.

***

"Oh my god, this is going to be a disaster," Clint says as he stands dressed only in his boxers in front of his closet and stares inside in dismay. 

Well, he stares at what is left in the closet because most of its contents is on his bed, and it doesn't tell him what the ever-loving fuck he's going to wear. How can he own this many fucking ratty t-shirts and jeans while having nothing decent to go out in? He's got a couple of suits for when they're obligated to go to charity balls and official events, but that would be too much. He's got no middle ground wardrobe, that's his problem.

"You’re worrying too much," Natasha says, filing her nails while sitting cross-legged on Clint's bed, surrounded by the crap that are his clothes.

"No, I am not. I didn't think this through, I should have gone shopping or something," Clint says. Phil and he agreed to go see a movie, which is pretty low-key, but Phil really likes wearing nice clothes, so Clint should have made an effort.

"It would be easier for me to help if you'd say who you're trying to impress," Nat says.

"I'm not-" he starts.

"Clint," Natasha cuts him off and Clint turns to look at her. "There are only three things that make a guy like you nervous about what he'll wear." She then counts on her fingers. "One is a job interview, which I forbid by the way because there is no way you are leaving me alone with those lunatics. Two would be meeting the in-laws, so not that. It leaves three, which is going on a date and wanting to impress said date."

Clint lets out a big sigh and shuffles dejectedly to the bed to flop onto his back. He's going to fuck everything up, he knows it: why would a guy like Phil be interested in a bum like him for more than a few fucks?

"Fine, it's a date," he admits. 

"Who?" Natasha asks again, face looming over his now and she's visibly curious. Clint reaches for one of her curls - it's a curl day, he loves those - and tugs on it just to watch it bounce when he releases it. 

"You have to promise not to say," he requests. "If it doesn't work out, I don't want things to be awkward."

Natasha tilts her head. "Now I'm definitely curious."

"It's Phil," Clint admits.

It's sadly pretty rare, but Natasha grins. 

"Phil Coulson. You have a date with Phil Coulson."

She sounds so amused, it makes Clint bristle.

"Yes, and I don't see what's so funny about it," he almost snaps.

Widow _laughs_ , but then she bends to kiss his forehead and rakes her fingers in his hair; he tries to bat her hand away.

"Not the hair," he protests because he spent way too much time and product making it stand up just right.

"I'm not laughing at you, I’m just surprised that you're _finally_ going to do something about that raging hard on you've had for the guy for years!"

"Hey!" Clint protests. 

"Frankly, I had given up hope that you idiots would get over your 'oh no, we can't, we work together so we can't be involved!' arrangement," she continues in a sing-song voice and Clint grasps a pillow to slap at her.

"Shut up! Why are you so annoying?" he says as she ducks the hits and easily steals the pillow back. "There was no _arrangement_ , this is totally new, so shut your mouth."

Nat raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?"

"Kidding about what? I asked him out today, he said yes, and that's all you need to know."

"Clint, he's been pining almost as much as you and for almost as long. You’re both morons if today is the first time either of you made a move," Natasha says.

This is at the same time the best news - pining for him, really? - and the worse - all that time wasted, Jesus! - that Clint ever heard. In the end, he can only smile.

"Wait, really?"

She rolls her eyes. "Really. Now do you want my advice about the clothes or not?"

"Please," Clint says with feeling. 

"What's on the program?"

"A movie. Maybe something to eat."

Natasha nods.

"Okay, I see. Play up your assets," she says, fishing stuff off the bed to drop on his chest. "Tight pants, tight t-shirt -"

"I sense a trend," he snarks as he fists the soft cotton of an old pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that he's pretty sure is too small for him.

"Assets, Clint," Natasha insists. "And wear your black leather jacket.”

***

Clint is extremely nervous when he rounds the corner to SHIELD's headquarters, but it's mixed with a hefty dose of febrile anticipation.

Phil is outside as agreed and he's changed into civvies - the suit and tie is pretty much Phil's uniform Clint realizes. He’s now dressed in slacks, with an opened shirt revealing a t-shirt underneath (is that Led Zeppelin?). Phil looks fantastic and the more relaxed wear takes several years off him. Phil smiles when he notices Clint and casts an appreciative glance at the car.

"Nice ride."

"Sweet, isn't it?" Clint agrees. It's a testament to Tony's character that a cherry red Mustang is the least flashy car the guy owns. Clint has taken advantage of the "keys are in the ignition" standing offer that they all had a few months back (except for Bruce. He can't drive ever, nuh huh, road rage is a definite problem). It must be nice to be richer than God, but then Clint has to admit that Tony is very generous with his friends.

Once Phil climbs in, Clint drives them to Loews near Lincoln Square. They agree on 21 Jump Street for the nostalgia factor because the other choice is Wrath of the Titans and frankly? Monsters and Gods hit a bit too close to home and they need a change in their time off. When Clint buys a big popcorn Phil is a spoilsport and vetoes adding the crap they call butter. Clint agrees way to easily because it means they get to share (it might be totally pathetic, but when their hands brush in the bag Clint gets actual shivers). The movie is fun enough, mindless in the perfect way to allow them to relax and laugh. As the movie progresses, Clint sprawls more and more, and when his knee touches Phil’s he leaves it there. And then shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth to hide his grin when Phil leans on it with his own.

After the movie they decide to walk around the West Side for a bit. The city is familiar, dynamic as always, and Phil is absolutely hilarious with little off the cuff comments on the possible secret lives of some of the people they come across. At one point they grab a slice of pizza and it's without a doubt one of the best dates Clint’s ever had. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much and he's only slightly nervous when it's time to drive Phil home. On the ride back, the space between them gets more and more charged with anticipation.

Miraculously, Clint finds a spot to park right in front of Phil's apartment in a well-kept brownstone in Midtown East, a lot closer to Stark Tower than Clint would have thought, and he gets out to walk Phil to his door. Phil is twirling his keys around a finger, just fidgety enough to show that Clint isn't the only one who’s nervous.

"Night cap?" Phil offers.

Clint knows that if he accepts, they'll be all over each other as soon as they cross the threshold. It's extremely tempting, almost unbearably so, but he's got to respect The Plan.

"No thanks," he says.

Phil looks taken aback and his face falls a little. Since Clint wants to be sure that he sends the right signals, he then adds "I had a great time,” puts a hand on Phil's neck and battles a stomach full of butterflies as he goes in for a kiss. It's a chaste brush of lips, sweet and unhurried and everything Clint never dared to dream about. Phil makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and pulling back instead of pushing foward is one of the hardest things Clint has ever done. "G'night," he murmurs against Phil's lips as he steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets. Clint longs to reach, grab, hold... wants so much, but this is important. He can be patient for a little while more. 

"Good night, Clint," Phil says, finally opening his door and slipping in.

After a beat Clint forces himself to go home. 

***

Clint just parked in the tower's garage when his phone chimes with a text

_I had a great time too_

Clint smiles, but before he starts to reply a second text appears. 

_how about dinner on Friday?_

Oh, that's awesome. Clint hurries to answer.

_it's a date._

The reply comes right after

_excellent. my place @1900_

Phil's playing dirty with that, offering to cook instead of going out. It's going to be harder to keep his hands to himself, but Clint is resolute.

_I'll be there. you know. barring acts of villainy or alien invasions_

 

***

Having a couple of days to prepare for their second date, Clint went shopping. He's got new Natasha-approved clothes (short-sleeved black shirt with a discreet silver motif and blue jeans) and he even bought a bottle of wine. Unfortunately, just before he manages to slip out the door, Stark appears out of nowhere and grabs the bag with the wine.

"Ohh, alcohol!" he exclaims, taking a couple of steps back while Clint is frozen in surprise.

"Not for you, you lush!" Clint says, trying to get his property back.

Tony is deceptively quick. After a dodge, he takes out the bottle and makes a face, and then looks at Clint, considering. 

"Got a date?" he asks.

Clint didn't want to advertise it, but he's got to get on his way right about now if he doesn't want to be late.

"Yes, so give that back!" He's about to lunge when Tony lifts a hand.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you embarrass yourself like this. Wait a sec!"

Tony saunters to the living room bar, opens the wine cooler and takes out another bottle. When he returns, he slides it in the bag and gives it back.

"There you go. Believe me, I'm doing you a favor." Clint peeks at the bottle, but he knows nothing about wine, so he can't say what it's worth. Knowing Tony, though...

"This isn't a thousand dollar bottle, is it?" he asks. 

"Nah," Tony says with a smirk.

"Thanks," Clint says sincerely. "I gotta go."

"Taking the Mustang again?" Tony asks, and Clint knows that what he really wants to know is who Clint is going out with, but he refrains from asking in a very un-Tony way. Sometimes the guy can be considerate.

"Is it okay?"

Tony smiles genuinely. "Not a problem. Have fun! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"You know that leaves things wide open, don't you?" Clint says.

"Exactly," Tony replies with a wink and Clint laughs.

***

Clint's going to be a good boy and stick with The Plan of at least three platonic dates; he wants to show Phil he's interested in him and that even though he's definitely interested in future sexy times, it isn't all he wants. Making out sessions, on the other hand, could be negotiable. He can, and will, do this. Thus fortified in his resolution, Clint rings Phil's bell.

Phil always walks deceptively quietly, so there's no warning before he opens the door just a crack. 

"Hey, hi," he says with a smile. "Just a sec."

The door closes, opens again and Phil has a caramel-colored tabby cat under an arm. "Sorry, he always tries to run off."

Clint had no idea that Phil has a cat. That he even _likes_ cats. The cat meows, trying to twist out of his grasp. "I'll be right back, I was about to put him in the bedroom anyway..."

"What? No!" Clint exclaims and Phil stops, both him and the cat now looking at him with interest. Clint reaches out to let it sniff his hand then rubs under its jaw and the cat leans into it heavily, making Clint smile. "Hey you." He looks up at its master. "What's its name?"

"Erwin. Most days," Phil says, holding him up so he can be petted more easily.

"And the other days?"

"Bloody menace?" Phil says with a smile and Clint laughs. Phil lets Erwin jump to the ground and gestures to the living room. "Take a seat, dinner is almost ready. Do you want a beer first?"

Whatever it is Phil is cooking, it smells absolutely delicious and Clint nods, before he remembers to give Phil the bottle of wine.

"Yes, thank you. And here, I brought this, I don't know if it'll do..."

Phil pulls the bottle out of the gift bag and whistles low.

"It will do, alright. You didn't have to," he says, raising one eyebrow.

Dammit, the bottle must cost a fortune. 

"I'll be totally honest here: I had bought something else, but Tony switched it out. I don't know much about these things," Clint admits with a wince. 

"Did he now?" Phil says softly, checking the label again. "He knew you were coming here?"

Clint rubs his neck. "Not specifically. It's none of his business. Not that I'm trying to hide anything," he hurries to add.

"Agreed," Phil said. "Well if he wants to give his friends bottles of wine that go for a couple thousand bucks a pop, that's his choice. I'll gladly drink it." 

With that, Phil takes the bottle to the kitchen as Clint goes to sit on the sofa. The furniture in the apartment is simple but of good quality, mostly made of dark hardwood and brown leather. There is a normal sized TV - living at Stark's makes one lose perspective - with what looks like a great entertainment center. There's a fairly big bookcase that seems to be stacked with way more CDs than books and Clint is dying to go over to check it out but he's afraid to look like he’s snooping right off the bat. A brush against his shin and a meow makes Clint look down at a curious Erwin.

"Hey there," Clint says, petting him. He sits back and pats his thigh. "Come on," he urges. Erwin doesn't hesitate and jumps up, then wastes no time bumping and rubbing his head against Clint's chest. 

Clint chuckles. "That's a nice kitty," he croons, scratching under his jaw. Erwin starts purring like a lawnmower, turning to putty right there on his lap.

"I see you're making friends," Phil says, back with a beer that he extends to Clint. Phil has his in a glass, but he knows from ops they did together that Clint usually drinks from the bottle. It's a Samuel Adams, too.

"Thanks," Clint says, before taking a swig, hoping alcohol will help with the nerves. "And yeah, me and Erwin here are going to be best buds, aren’t we?" he asks the cat who purrs even louder, twisting to show his belly. "Yes, we will!"

"I didn't know you liked cats," Phil says and he's... smiling fondly which pleases Clint. 

"Sure I do. I didn't know you did either."

"I found him when he was just a lanky kitten. He looked half drowned as he hid the best he could from a thunderstorm by the trashcan out back. I took pity on him and brought him in, and he decided to stay."

"Didn't you just say that he always wants to run off?" Clint asks.

"Yes, but it's just to get into trouble and then come back with burrs in his fur or with a live rat to let loose in the house," Phil says, but he looks more amused than annoyed.

"Oh, so you're a troublemaker, huh?" Clint asks the cat who meows back, making them laugh.

"I seem to have a soft spot for them, yeah," Phil says.

Clint grins and it's easy, hanging out with Phil like this. There are more stories about how Erwin is a menace, and then the buzzer is going off in the kitchen announcing that it's time to eat. Phil opens Tony's bottle (the wine is great, Clint will give him that, but two grand? That it's worth that much is beyond him). The food itself is absolutely great, from the smoked salmon appetizer to roast beef with all the trimmings and a cherry pie to top it off. A delicious, out of this world, cherry pie served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

"Did you bake this?" Clint asks, suitably awed after scraping his plate clean.

"Yes," Phil says with a shrug. "Baking is great stress relief. I’ve had a lot of practice."

Clint chuckles. "I bet you have. Everything was just fantastic, you're a great cook."

"Thank you," Phil says, pleased. He looks great too, dressed in a white button down, no tie and with the top two buttons undone. Clint's eyes kept straying to the patch of skin revealed in the v of the shirt all through the meal: he'd like nothing more than to kiss the soft skin there, and it's awfully distracting.

Phil insists on leaving the dishes to soak in the sink and they go back to the living room where Clint is faced with the prospect of sitting right next to Phil again. He's not stupid, he knows that if they sit there and start making out, he won't be able to resist going further. Instead, he goes to the shelves to check out Phil's music. At first glance all genres are represented, but he's surprised at the quantity of original heavy metal bands. 

"That's quite the collection," Clint says, braced on the shelves with a hand and trailing a finger on the spines of the CDs.

When Phil answers he's a lot closer than Clint thought he was, right at his back. "Yeah," he says and Clint feels his breath touch his ear, making him shiver. Phil then puts a hand on Clint's hip, who jumps away because touching is tricky, and it could be his downfall. 

Phil frowns. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Clint hurries to say and he hopes that his smile doesn't convey his almost panic. "You just surprised me, that's all."

By the look of it, Phil doesn't buy the excuse. With a sigh, Clint decides to come clean. 

"I'm trying to be good here. You're making it hard."

"Good?" Phil asks.

"I just want to do this right, you know?"

A tiny smile comes back to Phil's face and he advances on Clint again; Clint stands his ground because he's not a coward. Phil thankfully stops a couple of feet away.

"Your idea to do ‘us’ right is taking it slow?" he asks.

"Well, yeah." He's never done it slow, and his relationships never worked out. Maybe there's a correlation.

"And you don't think that four years of dancing around this is slow enough?" Phil says, and... he has a point.

"When you put it like that..." Clint says, his resolve wavering.

"Look, Clint..." Phil says intently. "I know what I want. And that's you."

What can you say to that?

"You've got to understand that it's not that I don't want, I want so much, but-"

Phil shuts him up with a kiss. From one moment to the next it's like a dam breaking and Clint surges forward, grabbing fistfuls of Phil's shirt. Sliding his tongue alongside Phil's is breathtaking, and a hint of the taste that expensive bottle of wine in Phil’s mouth make his head swim.

"I don't want to wait anymore," Phil whispers when they break the kiss to catch their breath. Clint nods and they shuffle towards the bedroom, working on buttons and belts in a somewhat futile effort to get out of their clothes along the way. (They also almost trip on the cat.)

Clint ends up sprawled on Phil's bed, as Phil straddles his thighs, pulling off his shirt. Clint has covertly ogled him on the few occasions where they'd had to shower at the same time - decontamination is a bitch but it has occasional perks - but now he can do it openly and he can _touch_ , which is the best thing ever. Phil's in great shape, more so than anyone would guess with those suits of his, and Clint can't stop his eyes and his hands roaming over him, is making plans to do it with his tongue in a very near future.

"Come on," Phil urges, pulling on Clint's shirt, betraying in this moment more impatience than Clint has ever seen on the man. It's fantastic. "Why are you grinning like a loon instead of getting naked?" 

Clint laughs. "You're cute when you're flustered." 

Phil's eyebrow rise before he shifts and grinds down on Clint's lap in such an indecent way that Clint gasps, sharp pleasure zinging up his spine at the pressure on his aching dick.

"Fuck!" he pants, after a rather shameless moan.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do," Phil argues and Clint can only help the best he can as they get rid of the rest of their clothes. All that is left after that is skin on skin, silky and hot, even more burning kisses and a need that runs so strong in his veins that Clint wonders if he might not stroke out, it can't be good for his health. Clint hooks his heels behind Phil's thighs and strains up, keening in the back of his throat. 

"I want..." Clint stops, because he just _wants_ , he doesn't care what, he'd be happy just to rub off like this until he comes.

"Tell me," Phil asks, sucking a mark on his neck and it makes Clint writhe. God yes, he wants to be marked, to be claimed.

"I want to be yours," Clint blurts out, vaguely horrified at himself; that sounded way too needy.

Thankfully Phil seems to like the concept because he all but growls and it's one of the sexiest sounds Clint has ever heard.

"Yes. Mine," he declares and it almost makes Clint white out. 

"Yeah, yeah," Clint pants in encouragement when Phil fishes lube out of the bedside table. Oh, Christ, he's not gonna be able to hold on. "Come on, please."

He's always had a thing about Phil's hands, which is going to get totally out of control now at how good it feels to be prepped, stretched and nearly taken completely apart. He's moaning almost nonstop but too gone to care, and goading Phil into going faster only makes the contrary asshole _slow down_. He might even be laughing at Clint.

"I'm good, I swear, just-" Clint gasps when Phil brushes his sweet spot again. 

"God, you should see yourself," Phil says, sounding awed and Clint can't take this anymore.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," he starts to chant.

Phil finally relents. "Okay, hold on."

There's a bit of fumbling with a condom and at fucking last Phil lines up and starts to push in.

"Oh, God," Clint breathes out and that's it, he cannot hold on anymore and he comes before Phil even starts thrusting. It's a all-encompassing orgasm, turning him inside out for an exquisitely perfect moment where everything is pure sensation. When the pleasure recedes a bit and he can focus again, Clint's left punch drunk and buzzing. He grins up at Phil, whose eyes are a little wild. Phil's biting his lip in a visible effort to keep some sort of control, rolling his hips with slow undulations.

"Thank you, sir," Clint jokes and okay, judging by the hard thrust he gets in return, there's something to explore there another time. Right now, though, Clint wants to see what Phil looks like when he comes undone, wants to make him feel just as good as Clint does right now. "Come on now, fuck me. Don't hold back."

"Christ," Phil says, starting to move in earnest, strong, beautiful strokes that make Clint moan some more, he's so sensitive. "You'll be the death of me, I swear," Phil adds as he speeds up. 

Clint hangs on to Phil's upper arms as he gets fucked good and proper, loving every single second of it, especially when Phil stutters and then shakes apart with a strangled gasp. Clint holds on to him, crooning at how good and perfect he is and Phil finally pulls out and crashes down right beside him, as if his arms have turned to jelly. Clint might feel a little smug. 

He cleans them up as much as he can bother right now, which is not a lot but is good enough, then lies down next to Phil, face-to-face and with most probably with the stupidest smile he's ever sported on his face.

"We should do that again," he says. 

Phil smiles, raising a hand to caress Clint's cheek, then combing fingers through his hair,

"I need a nap, first," he answers, before pulling Clint into a soft kiss, unhurried this time.

"If you insist," Clint murmurs, and gladly moves into Phil's embrace when he's pulled to rest against his chest. 

The steady beat of Phil's heart is hypnotic and soothing under his ear. He can let his guard down and relax with Phil, who's solid and dependable as always, and who, against all odds, wants to keep him close. This thing they are starting isn't just a mutual crush coupled with a history of attraction that’s finally found an outlet. This is the real deal, what Clint's been looking for all of his life: someone who'll make him feel like he belongs, who will give instead of take and who will never betray him, at least not intentionally. He can see himself growing old with Phil, when up until now one of his only certainties in his life has been that he'll die young. 

And that is perfectly fine with him. Bring on the grey hair, he's going to enjoy every second of it.

(His collecting days are over, he's got the ultimate trump card.)

**Author's Note:**

> The fic can also be found on my [LJ](http://gottalovev.livejournal.com/tag/fic.%20gotta%20catch%20%27em%20all). 
> 
> as a FYI, if you are curious, the titles for the fic and each chapters come from:
> 
> Fic itself: Pokemon theme; Chapter 1 (Bruce): "Touch me" - Samantha Fox; Chapter 2 (Thor): "Space Oddity" - David Bowie; Chapter 3 (Steve): "If it isn't her" - Ani DiFranco; Chapter 4 (Tony): "Harder Better Faster Stronger" - Daft Punk; Chapter 5 (Natasha): "I am your man" - Leonard Cohen; Chapter 6: "Together" - The Raconteurs
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading ♥


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